


Stop! Thief! (You Stole... My Heart)

by showmeurteef



Category: The Boyz (Korea Band)
Genre: 1920s Clothing, Bank Robbery, Bruises, Exhibitionism, Guns, Heavy Petting, Hostage Situations, M/M, Making Out, Minor Violence, Possessive Behavior, Sex Mentions, Threats of Violence, blood and injury mentions, hey so sexy bank robbers nyukyu, notorious criminals, obligatory i’m the stealer! joke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:08:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27788752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/showmeurteef/pseuds/showmeurteef
Summary: “Maybe some poor, flustered security guard is watching us take what’s ours...”basically just changmin n chanhee *cause a little ruckus* *r sexy*
Relationships: Choi Chanhee | New/Ji Changmin | Q
Comments: 8
Kudos: 60





	Stop! Thief! (You Stole... My Heart)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [minbins](https://archiveofourown.org/users/minbins/gifts).



> v got me into tbz <33 n when i pointed out chanhee n changmin right away she was like "Well, actually," so this little first step into tbzo3 newq is dedicated to She <3333 her fics ((absolutely Feeding tbzo3 she is!!!!!!)) r ridiculously amazing so if u somehow, some way haven't already read them All pls do so n be sure to tell her she's ridiculously amazing !
> 
> i think i covered everything in the tags/summary but pls lmk if u need any tws/cws !!

“You know the drill, right?” Chanhee drops a duffel bag onto the counter, the notes and receipts and whatnot that the teller had neatly stacked there fluttering away like autumn leaves. He knits his fingers together and leans forward, voice mockingly sweet, “Or, do I need to spell it out for you, hon?”

_“No!_ I got it— I— Please just—” The teller’s hands shake as they reach for the bag. Their eyes dart to the coworkers and customers lined up on the floor behind Chanhee. Hushed. Trembling on the glossy marble. “I’ll do whatever you want, but, _please,_ don’t hurt me.”

A puff of laughter falls from Chanhee’s lips. He tosses an incredulous back at the others, who, hands tied and mouths gagged, can only flinch in response. Chanhee rolls his eyes and gestures tightly to the bag. 

“Oh, yeah, you _sure_ convinced me. I _was_ gonna sandwich a bullet between your baby blues once you finished stuffing all the cash you’ve got into that bag, but I’m moved. _Really._ You nearly brought me to tears,” he says dryly.

The teller just gapes for a moment, before finally getting to work. Chanhee rests his chin in his hand. Shifts his weight. His eyes drag down from the bead of sweat at the teller’s poor excuse for a hairline, to the hideous tie around their neck. He wrinkles his nose at the cartoonish piggy bank pattern —so _tacky_ for such a high class bank— and even more sweat gathers above their wrinkled brow. 

They stuff bill after bill into the bag. 

Chanhee’s nails click against the counter. 

They dart to another teller’s counter to retrieve more cash.

Chanhee’s guns are heavy at his sides.

Shoulder holsters were a terrible choice. He and Changmin love to dress for the occasion, and today’s occasion called for 1920’s attire. Sure, the bank’s original marble, sleek paneling, and chandeliers like topsy-turvy skyscrapers compliment their pinstripes and plum lipstick, but the shoulder holsters are too bulky around Chanhee’s frame. If Changmin would hurry the fuck up cracking the vault, suffering though the awkward weight of the holsters might just be worth it.

“That— That should be everything we have back here.” The teller swallows thickly, fingers hovering over the duffel bag’s zipper. They must be waiting for Chanhee to give them permission to zip it shut and hand it over. A grin teases at Chanhee’s lips.

“‘Should be’ or _‘is?’”_ He lifts his brows, his own fingers hovering over one of his guns in warning. He doesn’t really intend to shoot the teller, but the color instantly washes from their face and their breath _hitches_ at his threatening movement, and some of the tension eases from his shoulders.

“Is. _Is._ That _is_ all the cash we’ve got—”

_“Doll!”_

Chanhee jumps so forcefully at Changmin’s shriek that his guns slap against his ribs. He purses his lips as Changmin’s head pops out from a door to the side of the teller counters.

“I opened the vault,” Changmin announces, sing-songy. His smile falters at Chanhee’s obvious irritation. “What’s wrong? Is it the holsters?”

“Never mind that. What took you so long? Plus, what’s with the ‘doll?’”

“I’m trying to get into character— sexy 20’s gangster type.” He fully steps through the door, stretching his suspenders for emphasis.

_“Get into character?_ What are you talking about...” Chanhee sighs and shoots an exasperated look at the teller. He drags the overstuffed bag over the counter, heart still hammering away after Changmin’s appearance. The surprise is only partially to blame for his rapid pulse— Changmin looks terribly good in that lipstick and he _knows_ it, too. His self-satisfaction stretches from ear to ear, glittering and sharp.

“What did you do to the teller? They’re looking very _Steamboat Willie,”_ Changmin laughs.

He’s right. The teller’s skin has gone so pale that it’s nearly gray, and they’re wearing a cartoonishly surprised expression. Sweat dripping over their brow. Eyes bugging out of their head. Chanhee shrugs.

“I haven’t _done_ anything at all. Maybe they’ve heard of us?”

The teller audibly gulps.

“Is that right? Are you _a fan?_ C’mere.” Changmin crooks his finger, beckoning the teller around the counter. 

Chanhee huffs and adjusts his grip on the bag. Changmin better not make this a whole thing —signing his name in god knows what sort of fluid, taking selfies in god knows what sort of horrific scene— because they don’t have the time. Chanhee’s already starting to sag under the weight of this money, and they haven’t even emptied the vault, yet.

_“Changmin...”_ His whine is cut off by the sound of the teller hitting the ground.

“I know, I know.” Changmin flaps a hand at him, crouching to peer at the teller’s damp and quivering face. He takes hold of their piggy bank printed tie. Another employee whimpers. _“Oh!_ This is cute.”

He holds the tie out for Chanhee to see, smiling brightly. Chanhee blinks at him, deadpan, even as his heart pounds away. Changmin’s expression doesn’t falter— his gaze shimmers, he giggles lightly. He roughly removes the tie and traces a finger over the childish pattern for a moment, before _gripping_ the teller’s jaw.

“Open wide!” He hardly gives them a chance to follow his instructions. He yanks their mouth open and crams the tie into the wet, quivering cavity. Changmin’s fingers push well past their teeth, and don’t stop shoving until tears start to brim in their eyes. The teller’s muffled cry is followed by a chorus of similar cries from the others curled up on the floor.

Changmin hums and fiddles with the tie, feeding the very end of it out of the teller’s mouth like a droopy tongue. Piggy banks soaked in spit. Tears sliding down stretched cheeks. Chanhee grimaces.

“Now, _that’s_ even cuter! Don’t you think?” Changmin wipes his hand on his pants and stands beside Chanhee, excitedly looking between Chanhee and the grotesque display. 

Chanhee just grimaces even harder.

A displeased whine slips from Changmin’s lips at his lack of enthusiasm. He jumps up, latches onto Chanhee’s arm, and spins him around to the door beside the counter. Chanhee squawks and stumbles as he’s shoved forward.

“Get a move on, Doll!”

“You can’t just _leave_ them—”

“They’re not going anywhere. Not if they want to keep their brains where they belong, anyways.”

Chanhee can practically _hear_ the ridiculous wink that Changmin shoots back at everyone on the ground. He rolls his eyes and picks up his stride. Their shoes click neatly against the marble. Changmin practically skips beside him, pushing and tugging him to the massive metal vault door straight ahead. He only detaches from Chanhee’s side to muscle the door fully open. 

He gestures grandly for Chanhee to step through as if welcoming a prince to ball. Chanhee smiles wryly and shakes his head. Fond, despite himself.

Stone and steel greet him. Tables piled high with money. Empty duffel bags waiting near the entrance.

“Isn’t this amazing?” Changmin steps into the middle of the brimming vault, hands stretched overhead with excitement. “And it’s all _ours!_ ”

Chanhee’s reply gets caught in his throat. Yes, Changmin looks terribly good in that lipstick _and_ in those suspenders _and_ in those pants, but there’s something about seeing his tall frame set against piles and piles of money. Something about nobody standing between Chanhee and what he wants— _everything_ he wants.

“All _mine,”_ Chanhee hums and unceremoniously drops the heavy bag onto the concrete floor. 

Changmin’s head tilts, cheeks dipping cutely around his smile. In no time at all, he catches the tight cinch around Chanhee’s words. Changmin beckons him forward, crooked finger and crooked smile.

“And _mine,_ too.” His voice _drips_ through his teeth.

Chanhee slinks forward, footsteps muffled by all the paper in the room. Quickly, Changmin grabs his waist, spins him around, and pins him against one of the tables. The steel lip of it bites into his thighs. His hands land in scattered money.

“We should do this more often,” Chanhee murmurs, eyes on Changmin’s wide mouth.

“We fucked on some banker’s desk just last week,” Changmin laughs. Inching, creeping forward. Fingers tight around Chanhee’s waist.

“Right, but being watched by some gagged old dude _hardly_ gives the same ambience as coming in a bed of cash.”

“Greedy. Who said you were gonna get to come?” Changmin connects his too-wide smile to Chanhee’s too-soft lips. Changmin is sweet about it— feathersoft, then pulling Chanhee closer with a hand at the back of his neck. Nipping, then soothing with tiny licks at the stinging, plum-colored skin. He pulls away for an instant —lipstick a _total_ mess— to look at Chanhee’s mouth. He gasps as if it’s the first time he’s ever seen a pair of lips. 

Chanhee’s laughter is cut off by Changmin pressing back into him. It’s a bit less sweet. Pulling Chanhee closer and _closer_ until there’s not enough room to breathe. Licking not to soothe Chanhee, but to get _inside_ of him. Chanhee’s hands fly to Changmin’s shoulders as he’s forced into a half-seating position on the table. Money flutters to their feet.

He pushes Changmin away, panting. His eyes meet a red light in the corner of the ceiling that shivers just above Changmin’s head.

“You _did_ remember to deactivate the security cameras before you cracked the vault, right?”

“Isn’t it more fun if I leave it up to your imagination?” He presses a kiss to the corner of Chanhee’s jaw. Wet, breathy.

Changmin’s hands slide to Chanhee’s holsters. He toys with the leather straps. Traces a finger over the outline of each barrel. He glances teasingly up at Chanhee as if he means to pull the guns out and fire them off.

“Maybe some poor, flustered security guard is watching us take what’s ours...”

Chanhee’s breath hitches as Changmin’s fingers skate to his waistband and hook above his fly. His thumbs press into the button there.

“Or... maybe not.”

“Changmin—” Chanhee means to warn him, to scold him, to do _something_ about his recklessness. _Really._ But Changmin unbuttons his pants and peels away pinstripes to palm him through his underwear before the words fully form on his tongue. 

His sweet, pitchy gasps stretch the grin on Changmin’s face. In retaliation, Chanhee plucks Changmin’s suspenders, collecting a full body shiver as they _snap_ against his chest. His cheeks warm as a grin forms on his own pretty face. He works at Changmin’s trousers, and trails a fingertip over the base of his clothed dick.

“Keep kissing me,” Chanhee says. He’s a bit irked by how _breathless_ he sounds after one kiss and some heavy touches —blame it on being surrounded by so much filthy money— but he can’t say he’s surprised. Changmin brings out the worst in him.

“No ‘please?’ Greedy, _greedy...”_ Changmin _tsks_ , more amused than irritated. He cups Chanhee’s dick, fingers folding heavily over the head. Moving closer, he knocks his legs against the table, jostling Chanhee and sending more bills to the ground.

“You’re just as bad as I am,” Chanhee grumbles. Spreads his legs. Arches his spine.

“No, _Doll,”_ Changmin laughs at Chanhee’s scowl and presses the heel of his palm against his dick. Warm, stiffening. “I’m worse.”

A crackly, shaky noise bursts from Chanhee’s lips. Changmin chases after it, connecting their mouths once more. One hand fluidly— almost _elegantly_ palms him through stretchy cotton with careful wrist motions and rolling fingers. The other hand grips the back of his neck, _possessive._

Snapped suspenders. A surprised gasp. Chanhee seizes the opportunity, not to regain his breath, but to latch onto Changmin’s long throat and suck at the thin, lightly scented skin there. He hopes the bruise will last and last. He hopes Changmin will think of him every time he looks in the mirror.

Chanhee’s feet slide up from the floor and flail wildly for a moment, before locking around Changmin’s legs. His spine bends awkwardly against carefully stacked bills. He forgets to breathe. Changmin is on him, on his neck, on his skin. It’s disgustingly wet and it _smarts._

“Fuck— you’re gonna leave a mark,” Chanhee whines, wrapping his legs more tightly around Changmin. 

“What’s mine is you and you’re mine and all that.” Changmin’s whisper is icy against Chanhee’s spit-soaked skin. Chanhee shivers.

“I think it goes: ‘What’s yours is mine and what’s—’”

Changmin cuts him off by pressing his thigh into his dick. Butterflies float from the swollen skin there to the very top of Chanhee’s head. His eyelids flutter. His nails rake along Changmin’s back.

“Would you let me fuck you with that security guard watching?” Changmin peppers kisses along Chanhee’s jaw and tugs at the tufts of hair behind his ear.

“Yes,” he breathes, rolling his hips up against Changmin’s thigh for emphasis.

“Whore.” Changmin’s smile tickles Chanhee’s chin. Chanhee’s tongue flits along his bottom lip. He tangles fingers in the other’s hair.

“Me? _Never.”_ That camera’s weak red light slides into Chanhee’s gaze again and nips his sarcasm at the bud. He gasps, “Did you _at least_ deactivate the security alarm? The cops...”

He trails off as soon as Changmin leans back to beam at him. His heart jumps to his throat. He shrieks. They’ve already wasted so much time— they’re _dead._

“You’re the cutest when you’re scared,” Changmin coos. Giggles at Chanhee’s pout. Openly _laughs_ as he’s shoved backwards.

Changmin hauls Chanhee off of the table by the straps of his holsters. Leather biting into his heated skin. Thoughts careening into the pulsating, wet walls of Chanhee’s skull. His shoes _clack_ against the concrete floor. 

“I _hate_ you.” Of course, he doesn’t mean it— there's bite to the words, sure, but only because the sting of them makes Changmin giggle and grab his hands. He presses kisses to the thin skin of Chanhee’s knuckles, leaving behind bits of plum just above adrenaline-stuffed veins.

“There’s lipstick all over my face and neck, isn’t there?” Chanhee moans. Changmin swings the sole filled duffel bag over his shoulder and tugs Chanhee along. “And what about the rest of the cash?”

“Here—” Changmin scoops up a wad of fallen bills from the ground and _yanks_ Chanhee closer. He roughly stuffs the money over Chanhee’s bulge, refastening his fly to keep everything in place. It looks ridiculous— paper tongues spilling out above the outline of his _very_ obvious hard-on. Chanhee flushes.

_“Why?”_

“For your troubles, you lipstick-covered, used-up slut.” Changmin pecks Chanhee’s heated cheek. 

“This could’ve been a _major_ score,” Chanhee grumbles and crosses his arms, following Changmin out of the vault. He does his best to ignore the sticky heat that builds within him as he imagines the picture he must make, lipstick smeared and guns heavy. “You owe me.”

“Don’t worry. They’ll pay us double this bank’s worth if we take a hostage.” Changmin wraps an arm around Chanhee’s waist and lightly jostles him until his pout disappears. “Plus, I’ll even wear the holsters next time we hit somewhere this glitzy, ‘kay?”

“Fine.” Feigning reluctance, Chanhee kisses Changmin’s cheek and pulls out a gun. Metal cool in his hands. Heart light in his chest. “But you are _not_ keeping that hideous tie as a souvenir.”

“We’ll see how your tune changes once it’s covered in blood, Doll.” Changmin grins as if he’s already blown the bank to bits, pockets overflowing, that tie around his neck.

Chanhee cocks his gun with a sigh, and offers the other to Changmin. If Changmin keeps smiling like that, the ugly souvenir and shrapnel might just be worth it.

**Author's Note:**

> (the tie ends up being the Least of our poorly dressed teller friend's worries) i hope this was a fun read !! pls lmk what u thought ! kudos n comments = more hostage ransom money to spend on romantic things like couples massages n matching vintage outfits n monogrammed guns
> 
> u can find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/showmeurteef) or [cc](https://curiouscat.me/showmeurteef)


End file.
